


A Simple, Tragic Life

by Olos



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gandalf is a gay traumatized mess, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, NSFW, Panic Attacks (maybe? not sure but to be safe), Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olos/pseuds/Olos
Summary: Heavy, well diverged AU. After Gandalf, Merry and Pippin escape Orthanc after horrors unnameable, they have to start again.





	1. Prologue

After we flee The Tower, I take us eastward. Well, well beyond the Anduin, and the first wall of Mordor’s mountains I take us, indeed almost til the east-west marches of the mountains were through. I mean to take us to my fellows, the Blue Twins.  
There’s rustling, footsteps, something small. My two are with me. What is this new threat? It does not sound to be an orc, but what else lives here?  
Out pops a hobbit. Indeed, it is the Soft One, but I know immediately his spirit has been assailed and crushed. His eyes, dull, wounds about him semi-healed, and he has a limp. To top it off, he’s gaunt, cheekbones starting to show from his ordinarily soft face.  
I must take him in, but that would deny getting to the Blue Twins.  
My companions, however, are overjoyed at the sight of their friend. They hug him, and fuss his hair, and while Soft One smiles, he does not seem happy. Oh, oh no no no. I know why.  
“Where is…the Ringbearer?” I ask, voice and mind unable to form the proper name of my friend.  
Soft One begins crying, and so do my two. It’s all I can do not to join them, but I ought to be alert for danger.  
“He--Oh, why! He’s gone. Dead!” Cries Soft One before going completely incoherent.  
With that news, I must sit, lest I fall. My two, now three, are in a pile, crying. I give them some time, about an hour, before I stir them.  
My original two, The Youngest and The Gentle One, get up and wipe their eyes. They’re used to this by now, but Soft One cries and cries and will not get up.  
I do what I must.  
Knocking him into a slumber, I pick him up. But where do I go? Where do I bear my three?  
I pretend to know where I’m going as I set out, but I do not know where I go. But something drives me, north and west. The Youngest and The Gentle One are confused. Why do we go back, Gandalf? They ask. I tell them this is where we need to go, my original plan is too far and too hard to go with Soft One.  
It takes a couple of days, but I find out eventually what drove me off course.  
I know by the sudden change in air, in power undetectable by anyone save myself. My instinct and heart bore us to the closest patch of relative safety.  
To my dear…old friend (pray heart, he was nothing but a friend), Aiwendil, or to my three , Radagast.


	2. A Meeting And A Deal

It is a simple path to take; the more birds and squirrels there are, the closer we most likely are to Radagast’s dwelling.  
It takes only a few hours, until about sunset, to get to his home, set in the clearing of the clear, _clean _woods. It’s rough and small, as is his fashion. Smoke floats up from a small chimney.  
I tell the three hobbits to wait at the edge of the clearing and stride up to the door. I knock, but given the door isn’t a solid piece of material, it thuds dully and doesn’t make a whole lot of impact.  
“Who’s there?” Comes Radagast’s wary voice.  
“Radagast, it’s me…Gandalf” I say. (Pray heart, he has long forgotten your other name.)  
“Oh, Gandalf! I should have known it was you! How have you been?” He opens the door. He’s beaming, and he opens his arms. I set a hand on his shoulder, and after hesitating he follows suit. (Pray heart, what did you think he’d do?)  
“I brought friends, I hope you don’t mind,” I say, almost sheepishly.  
“I thought you did. Where are they anyway?” He asks, untroubled.  
I lead him back to where they sit. I formally introduce my three to Radagast, my three smiling and nodding and saying hello, although Soft one a bit quietly.  
“Pray, come inside, and have something to drink, tea?” Radagast offers.  
The hobbits look enlivened at the prospect of tea, even Soft One slouches a bit less.  
“That is welcomed, thank you.” I respond, smiling.  
We go inside and squish around the small table. Radagast goes over to the fire and sets a kettle on it. It’s large enough to make us all tea at once; I’m surprised he has such equipment.  
A few minutes pass in silence until Radagast looks around and says “I’m… afraid I do not have enough mugs. Do any of you have mugs?”  
I fish around for my own, and I see Soft One doing so as well.  
After tea is passed around, I turn to Radagast, and decide now is the time to state our purpose here.  
“Radagast, I’m afraid we’re not just here for tea. I brought these three here because, well, long story short, we have nowhere else to go. I ask now for shelter here, in this small patch of land you seem to have made your own” I say, opening my face to show my honesty.  
He nods, and bows his head in thought. After a moment, he picks his head up and says, “I think I was expecting this. For some time now travel has been dangerous, and even this land I have guarded has recently been threatened more and more.”   
(Pray heart, do not show that much concern. That is an overbearing amount for a friend you have not seen for a year)  
“I felt you enter my land, not some few hours ago, and did not perceive a threat or some passer by. No, I have known you seek shelter here, and I grant it. Of course, if you’ll living with me, I’ll ask you all to help contribute to food gathering, housework, and such”  
I turn and seek the opinions of my hobbits. They, collectively, are very much in favor of putting down roots somewhere, with someone that is known, and do not mind the request of helping at all.  
“I believe we have a deal, thank you so very much.” I say warmly.  
Radagast smiles openly, and so warmly I have the urge to set my hand over his had that rests by his mug.  
(Pray heart, you’re friends, he does not want such things)  
I take a sip of tea instead .  
“Alright, first on our to-do list is where do we newcomers sleep?” I ask.  
“Hmmmm, I could share my bed, for a time…” ponders Radagast, “but someone will have to sleep on the floor until we can build a new room for beds”  
“So that’s our long term project, getting beds for ourselves?” Asks Youngest. “But I don’t know how to make a bed!”  
“I can teach you, and with your size I don’t think it will be an issue,” assures Radagast.  
“Well, evening is here some shan’t do much work now. Who wants to sleep on the floor?” I ask, fully expecting the hobbits to jump at the chance of a bed.   
But they don’t, they’d prefer to sleep on the floor together. I can see why, they haven’t known Radagast for as long as I have, and with what they’ve seen, I have no surprise that they have little trust for strangers.  
But that leaves me with Radagast.  
(Pray heart, you’ll only be sharing a bed for a few days, maybe a week or two. Don’t get your hopes up. There’s no point anyway, especially once he sees how shattered you are now.)__


	3. First Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, it'll be vignette style short pieces.

The next morning I find myself on my side, facing Aiwendil. I take a look at him. He’s curled facing me, his arms held close to his chest. He smiles so gently in his sleep the urge to squeeze his hand returns.   
(Pray heart, that is no way to wake a friend. He would prefer not to be woken that way.)  
Instead, I get up and shake his shoulder; it’s past sunrise and the hobbits have awakened, and I don’t want them to ransack the house in search of food.  
He mumbles, makes an incoherent noise before saying “Olóri-Gandalf? Is it morning?”  
(Pray heart, just because he does know your old name, it doesn’t mean he’s thought after you much. Saruman knows it too, after all.)  
“Yes, it is morning, and I believe the hobbits are in need of breakfast.” I say softly.  
“I’m getting up,” Radagast responds.  
During breakfast, I notice that Soft One eats ravenously, as if this is the best fare he’s had in weeks. I suspect it is.  
“So, Radagast, how should we plan out the day?” I ask.  
He thinks a moment before saying, “I think you could take one of the hobbits and go forage for food; mind it’s not meat if you can help it. Unless pressed I don’t eat meat. Other than that, whoever doesn’t go with you can stay with me and help make the new room and beds.”  
Soft One shifts closer me, and for a moment clutches to my hand.  
“I believe I have my companion for today,” I say, smiling to Soft One.  
“And boys, work well with Radagast,” I say, mock stern.  
They nod and grin, and perhaps, I think, we could fit well here.


	4. First Nightmare

The room and most of the beds are set up within the week, save mine. I’ve put off making my own because not only would that mean the hobbits would forage without me, I do not feel right having my own bed before them.  
But the night before I can finish my bed, I have a nightmare.  
I’ve been having some nightmares on and off ever since leaving The Tower, but this time instead of simply waking, and going back to sleep, I sit bolt upright, gasping, a yell barely restrained.  
The mattress shifts besides me; Aiwendil is facing me now, awake, concerned.  
“Olórin,” he whispers, “are you alright?”  
“I…had a...nightmare,” I struggle out between gasps, “It is…not an is...sue”  
There’s an arm around my shoulders; Aiwendil is sitting up with me.  
“Easy,” he says, “just breathe.”  
I lean into his arm, exhausted. “Aiwendil, I will-cannot let the hobbits see me like this,” I confide.  
“I understand,” he says, “you are welcome to stay with me, until these nightmares pass.”  
“No offense,” I say, “but I want them gone soon.”  
I see him nod in the darkness. “Me too, but not because I dislike sharing my bed.”  
(Pray heart, he’s just being polite. Nothing more.)  
At some point, I fall back asleep. In the morning, his arm is still draped over me, and I find I do not mind at all.


	5. A Long Day

A few days pass, and the foraging was hard today. Soft One was struck by memories, and spent a good while crying as I foraged alone in rough terrain. As I return to my new house, supporting Soft One, when Radagast walks up.  
“Welcome home,” he smiles.  
Without asking or being asked, he comes over, takes the basket from my arm, and sets his arm about my shoulders, and squeezes.  
(Pray heart, he’s just being friendly, trying to comfort a tired friend)  
“Come on, there’s some tea ready, if you wish,” he offers.  
He guides me to the table and sets a mug in front of me and Soft One.  
He turns to Soft One and asks, “Are you alright?”  
Soft One hangs his head, and says “No, I…remembered too much, and Mr. Gandalf had to forage for the both of us.”  
Radagast smiles and says, “It will take time to recover, do not despair that you cannot be as you once were. We’re happy to carry you along.”  
He remembered what I told him, I realize, and I am proud of him.  
(Pray heart, be not that proud, pride like that is not given a friend.)


	6. A Rough and Broken Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a TW for anxiety/panic

I wake, heart pounding, Power alight, trembling. Where are my hobbits? Where are they? I need to have them, need to need to need to-  
I’m getting up, walking swiftly, strides long, straight to where I left them.  
I push open the door to their room. I count three. Where is Frodo? Where is he? I can’t lose him, not him, can’t can’t can’t- he’s Ringbearer, if he dies we all die and I cannot let them die, cannot cannot cannot cannot cannot—  
A soft voice behind me. “Olórin, what are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”  
Aiwendil.  
I croak out, “Where-where is Frodo?”  
I can sense his pity flowing off him. “Oh Olórin, he’s dead. I’m so sorry.”  
I’m crying, weeping, when did that happen?  
Aiwendil is there. I press my head into his shoulder, and clutch to him like a child.  
“Where is Herinya Nienna?” I ask, too out of it to bother filtering my language.  
“She is across the Sea, far away. She cannot help you like you need, not here.” Explains Aiwendil.  
My sobs redouble. I need her.  
At some point, I realize that my clutching hands might be wounding him. No no I cannot, cannot wound him, wounding Aiwendil is to wound hope and light itself, it cannot be forgiven, cannot cannot cannot-  
Because I loosened my grip, and because of my new grief, I buckle and fall, by the door, I realize dimly.  
“Oh no, come here,” says Aiwendil gently, scooping me up and carrying my shaking form.  
He sets me on the bed, and I on my side but head facing upward.  
Aiwendil is there, petting my hair and whispering reassurances. Why, when I have delt him pain?  
I’m stuck in my grief and try he might, his comfort does not reach me.  
He realizes this. He stops and I think he’s leaving, but instead he leans over, and plants a kiss, a blessing, on the crown of my head.  
And by some urge I do not have the will to stop or even realize has seized me, I lurch up, grab Aiwendil’s collar, and kiss him, on the lips.  
Its rough and messy, and as soon as I realize I’ve done it, I fall back, head hitting the pillow.  
I take a read of how he took my intrusion, as best I can though the _regret-shame-grief-embarrassment- _coursing through me.__  
(Pray heart, why did you do this? You have ruined it all. He’ll kick you and the hobbits out to wander alone.)  
He, somehow, isn’t offended or angry as far as I can tell, only shocked.  
I stutter out, “I-I’m-I am sorry, Aiwendil-“  
He cuts me off, saying, “I-I did not know you needed this.”  
“I intruded on you! I-I hurt you, invaded you-“ I ramble, struck by the weight of what I did.  
“Woah, easy! If it’s what you need, I’ll give it to you,” he says, “And who’s to say that was an invasion of myself? I said nothing of the sort.”  
I lie there, shocked. How could this not be unforgivable?  
“Do you need this still?” He asks, softly, gently.  
I think. Yes, yes I need this, but from him alone. No one else do I think of doing so with.  
“I-yes. Please, Aiwendil, if you do not mind.” I sound weak and pleading.  
He smiles, and he initiates this time. It’s not graceful or pretty, but it works and its _great _for my shot heart.__  
After some time he breaks away and brushes stray hairs from my face. We’re both flushed and a bit breathless.  
“Sleep,” he asks of me, “there are hours yet til dawn.”  
And sleep I do. In the morning he is gone, I have slept late but was not awoken, but the trace of heat and spirit tells me he lay close all night.  
(Pray heart, maybe you're right after all.) 


	7. Rough Tales and a Better Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of torture, neglect, implied rape & very coercive sex, and a little obvious and more implied NSFW

I was given a few days grace to figure myself out and settle myself after that hectic night, but he corners me as we lie abed.  
“Olórin,” he begins gently, “I’m concerned about what happened a few nights ago. I don’t want to see you go through something similar, so could you tell me what brought it on?”“What literally brought it on was probably the tiring day and looking after my foraging partner of that day.” I say, knowing I’m not answering his question fully.  
“That makes sense, but…all the same, you’ve changed Olórin, you’re quieter and shyer and, dare I say it, sort of broken somewhere.” He pauses, checks my face to see if he’s invoked offense. I nod, a silent affirmation he can go on, that I agree. “You’re still…wonderful,” he pauses, looks almost embarrassed, “but you’re not the same Maia that I knew just a year ago. Dear, what has happened in the year past?”  
“Well, that is a…hard question, but for you I will endeavor to answer,” I reply.  
With that I begin, from when he rode off the day he prompted me to go to Saruman. I tell him of the letter I left with Barliman, of the hurried ride down to Saruman, of the encroaching fear I felt at first when I was there and that fear being realized, the months of isolation atop the roof.  
Regret forms on Aiwendil’s face and he says, “Oh, I am so sorry I sent you there.” He reaches out and takes my hand.  
I can tell he means to say more, but I cut him off with, “It’s alright, he hid his mind and intent from you. You are not to blame.” I smile and kiss the crown of his head. I feel more than hear a small chuckle leave him.  
“Shall I continue?” I ask, and when he nods, I tell him about my flight from Isenguard, my trip up to Imladris, the council, the planning of the Fellowship, the trip from Imladris, the failure to pass over the Misty Mountains.  
I pause, for this is where It grows hard to tell, but Aiwendil squeezes my hand and I find the strength to tell a bit more.  
I tell him of my fear of Moria and the Balrog, and of the folly of overriding Aragorn’s fears and taking the Fellowship down to the Gap of Rohan.  
I tense, but tell Aiwendil of the ambush of the orcs, how my-our two youngest were caught with me, how I threw Frodo to Aragorn, how we were taken to Isenguard.  
Here I well and truly pause, not sure if I have the strength to tell of what happened there.  
“You’ve been so brave telling me this, is this next part difficult to tell?” Guessed Aiwendil.  
“Yes, it is hard. I will need…comfort, but this is something I ought to tell.” I respond.  
So, haltingly, I tell of how we were set on the roof, how we were deprived of food, how we were tormented by many questions and mockeries and jabs, how there was no room to run or pace.  
I start crying, feeling as if I were going through it again.  
Aiwendil is there, drawing me close and running his hands through my hair. I swallow, brace myself, and tell the worst of it.  
I tell him how, the last full day there my Youngest was taken and he comes back crushed. I know what Saruman did to him and it broke me too, Saruman is fey and cruel how could he hurt a _child _like that, its inhumane.  
I tell him how, the next morning, I plead with Saruman, please just let us go I’ll do anything. He smiles wickedly and takes me to a room. He pries Narya from me and he harms me like he did my Youngest but I technically agreed because it would get my hobbits out of here so was it really that bad?  
I’m sobbing, and I think I need a break before carrying on.  
Aiwendil looks horrified and upset and not a little irate. I cringe from the anger flashing from his eyes until he realizes why I turn and smooths out his face and draws me back in and kisses me.  
“Is-is this why you were so worried about ‘invading me’ that night?” He asks, figuring my mind and heart out, incredulity running into horror running into sympathy. He pauses, grasping for words before getting out, “Olórin, you-you could not- I do not think you would, or could, deal that harm to me. Please believe me, you haven’t hurt me.”  
I sob harder, relieved on several levels and clutch to him tightly. He kisses me gently but I seize his lips and return roughly, desperation and long held grief pushing me on. He responds in kind and we go on like that, and its _enjoyable. _Indeed, some parts of me are getting rather interested in this turn of events.  
Before anything more happens, I pause. Aiwendil looks up at me, a bit dazed looking, and asks, “What is it?” A quick read of him tells me that his body, at least, mirrors my own.  
“Are you alright with…this? And well…anything more, well…intimate?” I ask, awkwardly.  
“I have no objections, I’m, well, happy to on my end, but are you sure you want to, after…?” He lets his question trail off, as we both know its end.  
“Please, Aiwendil, if you do not mind, I would have this. You’re…different. I want to do this now.” I explain, haltingly, need fogging my mind.  
He doesn’t speak but he nods, and the next hour or so is spent in each other’s company.  
In the morning I wake, curled up with Radagast so that our foreheads meet and hands rest together, to the sound of the hobbits preparing breakfast.   
“Wake up,” I say softly, “It is morning now.”  
Radagast awakes, smiles, and together we get up and join the hobbits in the kitchen.____


	8. Foraging's Mischief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the vignette style chapters, I'll post a few more broad scoped chapters and tie it all together with an epilogue

A while later, Radagast suggests that we forage together, that the hobbits can mind the house for the day, after all, there isn’t much to do. I heartily agree, and not a small part because I feel we need more time alone than the nights we get normally.  
We head out, and walk aways to clear some ground. We talk as we walk, reminiscing about our time in Middle-Earth. He brings forth a bird and has it play about my head, singing. We laugh long at that.  
A few minutes later, Aiwendil stops, eyeing the ground.  
“What is it?” I ask, hoping its not serious.  
He crouches, grabs a plant, and pulls. “Wild carrots!” He declares. “I thought there’d be some here.”  
I examine the plant that Aiwendil pulled, and stoop to pull a similar.  
“Mine’s bigger,” I remark offhandedly, twirling the root in my hand.  
Aiwendil’s eye gets a mischievous glint, he glances at my torso before he says, “Oh, I know,” clearly holding back snickers, but it takes me a minute to figure out why. When I do, I blush, and say, “Bold, but what are you, a chil-ah!” I cry out, alarmed, as Aiwendil’s carrot makes a jab at my nose.  
I rub my nose, not from pain but surprise, and ask, “Did you bring me out here only to make crass jokes and poke me with-“ he pokes my chest with the carrot, “-oh it’s on!”  
The isolated pokes become a battle, and we only stop because mine breaks from the stress.  
“That could have been in dinner,” I say, almost mournfully.  
“We can get more, its ok,” he assures, and leans in and kisses me. I respond, embracing him, and after a moment he breaks apart but stays in my arms. When he smiles I can feel him everywhere, within me and beyond, as if he were becoming the world itself.  
After a few minutes, that feeling fades, but some core part of me feels full, more complete, as if that kiss had changed me. Perhaps it had, I muse, going back to pulling carrots, but only time can tell.


	9. Loss(.jpeg)

We’ve stayed with Aiwendil for several years. We’ve started a garden, made repairs to the house, bartered with a nearby Edain village, healed and for us Maiar, loved. I’ve grown and healed, my nightmares grown far less frequent, although I’ve not left Aiwendil’s bed for another, and I don’t ever want to. I realize now, I’ve grown dependent on him, I _need _him. On several more occasions have I felt his spirit, his Fëa, about me, as if I were drowning in it, and as time passed, I’ve felt more often that we’re becoming closer in manner and word, as if our very Fëar are melding and intertwining.__  
This morning, I woke quietly, but I did not want to get out of bed, but the smell of breakfast cooking rouses me enough to sit up and rub my eyes.  
“Good morning! I love you!” Chirps Aiwendil.  
“I love you too,” I murmur, pecking his cheek.  
“Do you wizards want breakfast or not?!” Our Youngest hollers from the kitchen.  
I chuckle. “You know, I think they know about us,” I say.  
“What do you mean?” Aiwendil asks.  
“They know about-“ I kiss him “-us.” I respond.  
“Well I have no issues with that,” He grins.  
“Neither do I. Come on!” I take his hand and we walk into the kitchen.  
At breakfast it is deemed, because autumn is coming, that I shall take the younger hobbits and forage for herbs to dry, and Aiwendil and Samwise, the latter feeling a bit ill anyway, shall stay home and mind the house.  
We get up to go, but Aiwendil takes my arm just as we walk out the door.  
“I love you, be safe, alright?” He asks me, urgently, for some reason.  
“I will be, don’t worry. I love you too,” I reply. He kisses me, and I chuckle.  
So do the two older hobbits, and Our Youngest begins to chant, “Gandalf and Radagast, perched in a-“  
“Oh, shut up.” I smile, and guide him and his cousin away.  
Around the first hour or so away from home, I feel a flash of concern or worry, as if something unwanted were approaching, but I brush it off.  
Three hours later and several miles from home, I feel a jolt of panic that is not my own. It’s… _Aiwendil’s! _His panic keeps reaching me and he’s in trouble, was that concern I had earlier his too? Why did I ignore that why why why-__  
I’m standing tense and fists clenched, my Power threatening to go haywire. I become aware my breathing is short and shallow. The hobbits stare at me but do not move or speak, and I am grateful.  
Aiwendil is wounded, he’s in _pain, please please make it stop _but I’m panicking too and I have no idea how to project comfort or healing or _how much I love him. _____  
Then, I feel it, the sundering of our Fëar and it hurts hurts hurts hurts-  
My knees hit the ground and they’ll bruise later but that doesn’t matter because Aiwendil is _dead dead gone I did not save him, what am I but a failure I cannot keep my lover alive, cannot cannot cannot- ___  
I’m swearing in every language I know and my hands are clutched to where I felt my soul tear, on the right side of my torso, and the hobbits look at my like I’m going mad, but oh, _Eru _am I?__  
“Gandalf, Gandalf!” Cries Our-My Youngest, “Are you alright?!”  
He’s there, prying my hands from my side and I realize, he’s checking for a wound.  
I turn to him, and with the best attempt at a smile I can get I say “I’m-I am not physically wounded, do not worry.”  
“But you’re hurt!” He exclaims.  
“Aiwendil-Radagast, is…dead. That is why I am hurt.” I say, and it’s all I can to do keep from crying because saying out loud hurts.  
They look shocked and about ready to grieve but I haul myself to my feet. I realize I’m swaying slightly. Gentle One puts himself beneath my hand to offer support; I lost my staff with Saruman.  
“Thank you,” I tell him, “Now we must go back to the house, and gather our things. We must move on, this place is not safe anymore.” Tears start in their eyes but they blink them back. Old habits never die, I guess.  
By the time we get back the assailers are gone. The house is ransacked and it looked like Aiwendil put up a fight.  
“Where-where is Sam?” Asks Our-My Youngest.  
“We…must assume he is dead. We cannot find him, not without weapons.” I say heavily.  
I give them a moment to grieve before I get them on their feet and tell them to gather their things. They get up dutifully, get their things as I get mine. I put what food is left into my bag.  
After that, we leave and do not return. We spend about a year looking for the Blue Twins, and then just Pallando when no recent rumor of Alatar is heard.  
We find him, in a small Easterling’s village, and once he shows me to his house, and gives me his spare bed, perhaps once Alatar’s though I do not know, I collapse. I do not rise for a week or more, and Pallando is made to nurse me. Eventually though, I get up, and face the world, if only for my hobbits. I must look after them, after all.


	10. Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW death and suicide

The years pass in a blur. I’m not bothered to count them anyway. My hobbits grow and both find a spouse, eventually, but neither have kids, the elder because they cannot, as they are both male, but my younger could, but doesn’t. Pallando, try he might, can’t fully comfort me. Of course he can help after a nightmare, but he cannot replace Aiwendil. Oh, Aiwendil…  
The hobbits grow old, and I see their strength begin to fade. Merry dies first, and Pippin is dead within a day of him. I prepare for my final trip as Gandalf; I must go to the local forest, and fade. Fade and leave this world.  
Pallando catches me just before I leave. “I cannot talk you out of this, can I?” he asks.  
I turn to him, and drop my guard, allowing him to read my heart. He nods, and oddly, hugs me. It brings no comfort.  
I find a clear patch in the forest and I lie down. My thoughts turn to many things, but lastly to Aiwendil, and how maybe, just maybe, I’ll find him, after death.  
The darkness swells up and I drift away, lifeless and weightless. It feels like a relief.


	11. Third Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herinya=My lady  
> Herunya=My lord  
> Both are Quenya terms ^^

After I fade I spend uncounted years wandering Middle-Earth as a spirit unseen. I watch over Pallando’s village, I go to where I lived last, and see my home nearly rotted away. The rest of Middle-Earth is too painful to look at for long, after all, with the death of Frodo it was given over the Sauron. I guess that Merry and Pippin might have been the last hobbits alive.  
But eventually, I get bored of Middle-Earth. I return to Valinor.  
I expect to be greeted with resent and chastisement, after all I failed my task, but if The Valar were ever angry they did not show it to me.  
I could tell they were truly done having a hand in anything save their own lands, and also that they were expecting an attack from Sauron, but they did not mention it. They showed me instead kindness, and compassion and comfort, but I could not wait. I needed to visit Herinya Nienna, on a trip so many years overdue.  
I spent time, time, maybe even an Age just with her, slowly but surely healing.  
Eventually, I feel myself, I feel like a Maia and not a lost broken soul. She tells me even my Fëa was damaged by my long grief, and that I may not ever be full again. I say back that I just want to smile more than I weep and grieve and cry.  
For a while I was kept as a spirit, she deemed giving me a body was not a good idea. But eventually, as I began to smile more often and my fits of grief less intense, I get my body, my Valinorian body, back.  
One day, she says I am almost about as well as I can be. Herinya Nienna is right, I think, I am about as at peace as I need. I am not as happy as I was, but I can assume duties as a Maia of Herinya Varda and Herunya Manwë, and I can live like this.  
That day, she says there is a visitor for me. I wonder who it could be; I thought I was not allowed visitors, because they could upset me with news of war or death without meaning.  
I am lead to the entry hall, where a green cloaked and hooded person, the visitor, waits on the bench. When they see me, they rise and set themselves in the center of the hall, and they remove their hood.  
Its Aiwendil! Aiwendil as he was and still is in Valinor, ginger hair messy and cut shorter than the custom, a tan freckled clean shaven face, and always, somehow, leaves in his hair.  
It’s Aiwendil and I cannot believe it but I’m running running down the stairs and across the floor and I jump at him and he is no ghost. He catches me, and we kiss, rough and with little more grace than we had when we first did but it happy happy happy and loving loving loving and I feel my Fëa heal from its almost forgotten wound and flower and his Fëa coming back in and filling the gaps it was torn from and I feel whole and alive and happy happy happy.  
I break it off some time later and just embrace him and cling to him, rambling joyously in Valarin now Quenya now Westron I love you I love you I missed you so so so much you’re here and not a ghost or a phantom and I cannot believe it but you are and I love you love you love you never leave me again Im sorry I ever left you sorry sorry sorry and I cannot be parted from you again never never never again and I love you you you you I love YOU!  
He pets and kisses my hair and takes my rambles as they come, not shushing me. Eventually I run out of words to say, and I fall silent, crying happy happy tears.  
He too cries but I can tell its happiness, and eventually he says, “I’m sorry I did not come sooner, but today was the first day I was given consent to see you. To tell you a secret, if I had to wait any longer I would have climbed in your window.”  
I giggle and say “I love you but do not get yourself in trouble just to see me.”  
“Well now I can see you all-“ he kisses me “-I-“ he kisses me again “-want!”  
We kiss again, but I break it off soon to ask, “How did you fare?  
“I was not so badly off, at least not as bad as you from what Lady Nienna’s messengers have told me,” he responds, “but I had my couple of years here but I was quick back to my duties, and,” he starts to grin excitedly, “I’ve started a garden with so many little birds living in it!”  
I grin back and laugh to see him so happy.  
“But how were you? Try I might Lady Nienna’s messengers did not tell me much,” he asks, “what happened after I died?”  
I swallow and a shadow crosses my heart but it flees quickly in this house of healing and in the presence of my love, lover, and now I can admit it, husband.  
“That is a long and difficult tale, but for you I can tell it. But later! First I want to see the garden you told me of!” I say, disengaging my embrace on him but taking his hand.  
“Lady Nienna?” Hails Aiwendil after a moment. I start, I forgot she was standing on the stairs. I turn to see her: she has a very slight upward tilt to her lips and her eyes are crinkled.  
“Yes, Aiwendil, husband of Olórin?” She asks, and she knows but I don’t mind, in fact the acknowledgement of our marriage, although not done in ceremony, feels right and wonderful and one of the best feelings I could have, save perhaps that meeting I just had. I wonder briefly how she knew without my telling until I realize how emotional I was greeting Aiwendil, and realize even the Dark Lords would know we love each other from that.  
“May I take him away from thy halls?” He asks, looking up at Herinya.  
She does not speak, but she nods, and just for a moment, her tears stop.  
Taking her nod as both consent and dismissal, my husband turns, and hands joined, we pass through the silver and glass doors out to a far green country, under a swift sunset.  
(Pray heart, why did I not listen to thee sooner?)


	12. More?

Not an actual chapter, but if you want more, you can copy paste the link below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15203621/chapters/35262176

Have fun!


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